


cats [rosas] adapt to survive

by mlraven



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Amy's brother - Freeform, Cats, Gen, adopting a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-05-23 03:38:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14926398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlraven/pseuds/mlraven
Summary: Rosa doesn’tmeanto adopt a cat...





	cats [rosas] adapt to survive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).



> Happy Everywoman! I saw your Rosa + pets prompt and I couldn't resist :)

Rosa doesn’t mean to adopt a cat.

Technically, she argues, she _didn’t_ adopt a cat; the cat adopted her.

She comes home from the Nine-Nine after a long day of paperwork, trudging up the stairs to her new apartment. After the shenanigans with Pimento, she moved into a sixth-floor walkup, complete with iron fire escapes. Some of her neighbors use their fire escapes as pseudo-balconies (against the fire code), but hers is kept stubbornly clear.

She’s just started to chop up some yams to roast for dinner when she hears a forlorn meow from outside.

It’s raining, and it’s late enough in November that the rain is pretty cold. She peers through her kitchen window and sees a tiny ball of sodden fur perched on her fire escape.

She sets down the knife, blade toward the wall, and wipes her hands on the kitchen towel hanging in her waistband. She opens the window to the fire escape and pokes her head out, glancing left and right to make sure no one’s watching.

When she’s satisfied that no one will catch this moment of weakness, she crouches down and offers her hand to the cat, murmuring soothingly. The cat sits still for a long moment, then gently butts its nose against Rosa’s fingers. It gives them a good sniffing, then it pushes up off its hind legs and gingerly walks closer.

“There, that wasn’t so hard,” Rosa says, backing up slightly to try and coax the cat inside. “Why don’t you come inside, where it’s nice and dry? You look like you could use a hot meal.”

The cat cocks its head, considering, and thrusts its head through the window. It sniffs the air and, apparently decided, jumps daintily down into the apartment.

The cat lands on its feet, but the impact of its fur against the floor makes a squelching sound, and the cat mrows again.

Rosa slides the window shut again and pulls the towel out of her waistband. She sets it down near the cat, close enough to invite investigation, but far enough away that it shouldn’t be threatening.

The cat stands, slick tail extended defensively, as it considers the rest of the apartment. Eventually, it seems satisfied, and it bends its head down to sniff the towel. It walks over to the towel and begins kneading it with its front paws.

After the towel has been thoroughly worked over, the cat circles a few times and curls up on it.

Rosa watches it until its eyelids sink low. When she’s satisfied it won’t panic and rip everything apart, she returns to the kitchen to fetch her phone. Amy mentioned that one of her brothers is a vet. Surely she’ll be able to find his information on Google; there can’t be that many Caleb Santiagos in New York.

  
  


After thirty minutes of frustrated Googling, Rosa admits defeat and texts Amy.

_Need a vet. Give me your brother’s phone number._

Rosa steels herself for the incoming barrage of questions, but Amy must be distracted with last-minute wedding logistics, because her reply is remarkably short.

_Shared contact: Caleb Santiago_

_Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me_ why _you need a vet! The moment I’m done with section 34 of the month-of binder, expect a call. I need all the details!_

Rosa smiles.

  
  


Dr. Santiago _(“Call me Caleb, please. Any friend of Amy’s…”)_ gives the cat a once-over. Its mottled black-and-brown fur has dried and is sticking up in all directions.

He tells her that she _(“Yes, she’s female. No microchip to tell us whether she’s been spayed, though.”)_ is a long-haired domestic tortoiseshell, likely about five years old. The lack of microchip or collar means they have no way to find an owner.

_(“Honestly, she’s small and underfed enough that she’s probably been a stray for a long time, if not forever.”)_

Caleb offers Rosa the names of several local shelters that might be able to take the cat, but he warns her that late fall is a difficult time to find a placement. Rosa thinks for about two seconds before telling him that she wants to keep her.

They schedule the surgery for later in the week, and he gives her flea medicine and a microchip to last until then.

Rosa leaves, wallet several-hundred dollars lighter, with a smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. She knows already this cat— and her companionship and affection— is priceless.

 


End file.
